Trespasser: An Epilogue
by ReissumiesSF
Summary: The Inquisitor deals with the aftermath of the Exalted Council and her own personal loss, in more ways than one.


The Inquisitor clutched the empty sleeve where her left hand had once been. The Exalted Council had ended hours ago and most of the people in the Winter Palace were already getting ready to sleep, but she couldn't put her mind to rest.

She opened the buttons of her jacket slowly, hesitating, yet at the same time hoping she wouldn't have to put it on again for a very long time. She wasn't much for a formal attire. It drew too much attention, too much sharp eyes and twisted tongues towards her way. The palace life was not for her, it had never been.

As Rose drew her arm out of the jacket she finally saw it with her own eyes and every single drop of denial vanished from her mind. The truth was in the mirror, right in front of her.

Half of her left arm was gone, withered away in ashes from where Solas had touched. In its place there was an ugly, disfigured stump that hanged uselessly on her side.

Anger boiled inside her and her fury, usually directed at her enemies, overtook her. Rose clenched her right hand into a fist and smashed it onto the table in front of the mirror. The table cracked loudly, almost spilling in half, but held together just barely.

Rose fell on her knees. Every painful moment, every disappointment, every sting of fear and sadness seemed to flow out of her uncontrollably with her tears. She was crippled. She could never hold a greatsword again. She would never lead a charge against an enemy. She wasn't a fighter anymore.

Her strength had been something she had always relied on. _"The Iron Rose"_ they had called her back in her parents' house, the Trevelyan estate. There wasn't a man or a woman around, not from the city guard to her own father's generals that could beat her. And that was good; she didn't really have anything else going for her.

Rose could still remember her parents very well, even if she hadn't seen them in years. Her mother was absolutely beautiful, a true gem of every ball and party. But for whatever reason the Maker had decided Rose should get her looks from her father, a rugged, fierce man from the Ferelden army. She had an angular, freckled face with sharp, wide cheekbones, a big nose, a strong chin and a very defined jawline. The only things she had inherited from her mother were her bright green eyes and red hair, which did little to nothing to improve her appearance. The marks she had gathered during her years in battle didn't really help either. She had three deep scars in her face, only across her lip, one across her nose and one going all the way from the side of her forehead towards her mouth. Her nose had been broken more than once and was crooked towards her left cheek. One could say the only pretty thing on her face was the red tattoo across her right eye.

She had been an atrocity at her parents' public events, at balls and ceremonies. She couldn't dance, she couldn't talk to nobles and she looked ridiculous in a dress.

But she could fight.

By the Maker, she could fight.

But now that had been taken away from her and she felt like she had nothing left. The world would be torn to pieces and she was forced to step aside and let other do the dirty work.

The tears burned on her cheeks. It wasn't right. Fucking hell, it wasn't right.

She didn't hear the door open. How could she, through all her sobbing? So she only noticed the elf girl after she had sneaked behind her and grabbed her tightly in her arms.

"Sera…" Rose sobbed. The elf's thin arms pulled her tightly against herself. She stared down at them, but didn't get a word out of herself.

"It's okay Teetness", Sera whispered to Rose's ear and brushed her slender fingers across her hair. "I'm here. You're here. We're here, yeah?"

"I lost my arm", Rose continued, but just as she had said that she quickly hid her stump behind her body, away from Sera's eyes. She didn't even know why.

Sera slapped her at the top of her head. "I didn't want you because of your hand stupid, not like all the noble pisseaters and shitebiters! You can still make cookies with one hand right? Remember, us-cookies?"

Rose couldn't take it anymore. She felt like she was going to collapse. Before Sera had even realized what happened Rose had turned around and wrapped her arms against her, the stump included.

"See?" Sera asked. "It's still good for something."

"Did I do the right thing?" Rose asked, her voice shaking. She didn't know if keeping the Inquisition alive had been the right choice. But she knew Solas was something terrible, something more frightening and powerful than they had ever faced. They couldn't afford taking things slow and easy or else they would never catch up to him. How would you even stop a god?

"I don't know. But we've done a lot of good, yeah? Stopped a lot of pisspots during all this. So if we can keep doing that, keep putting pointy things into bad people, I think that's pretty good."

Rose sniffed a running snot back into her nose. She was a mess, but somehow Sera made everything feel better. She always did. Many people, not least of all Rose herself, had wondered what had drawn them together. Someone as wild and nutty as Sera seemed an odd partner for someone as serious as Rose. And true, they didn't always agree on things, not at all. But she made her smile. Amidst all the violence, blood and chaos she could always make her smile.

"Come on luv", Sera said and picked Rose up. "You'll feel better in the morning. I got something real fun planned for you!"

Rose didn't dare to ask what she meant by that.

They laid in the bed for a while, cuddled together, listening to the night while Rose held Sera in her lap so she could feel her breathing against her skin.

"I never liked the elven bastard", Sera whispered after a long silence. "But now I really wanna hurt him. I'm gonna to put an arrow right through his fucking eye for what he did to you."

Rose didn't answer. She just pulled Sera closer towards herself and let the night wind lull them to sleep.


End file.
